Grand Theft Auto: Balla's Paradise
by Z Rawr
Summary: Takes place during and after GTA 5. Follow Dwayne Rogers, a young Balla bent on tearing Los Santos apart to get at the people who killed his parents. His wish is granted but he quickly comes to realize he has bitten off more than he can chew. With enemies all around and a large debt to pay Dwayne and his gang find themselves trap. Now They will either get rich or die trying.


**Hey potential readers. I'd just like to take a minute to welcome you to my new fanfic. Some of you may know me as Zane Longsharks, lets just say that for some strange ass reason my old account won't admit me. Its been blocked or some shit. Its the second fucking time! D:. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk. When life blocks your account you create a new one and start a new fanfic. I hope that the fanfic staff can sort it out so I can get to my old fics, I still got plans to finish in the meantime I'll be working on this. All my old readers you're going to love this one. To my new readers I hope you do. Without further ado here we go.**

===============================~8~=================================

The room was dark, dank, and filthy. It reeked of mildew and decay. The flickering light bulb gave off more shadows than light and what it did shed light upon was not pleasant to look upon in the least. A rotten hardwood floor covered with broken bottles, food wrappers, syringes, and discarded plastic bags that it was hard to tell where garbage left off and wood began. Graffiti covered piss stained walsl with pealing wall paper that had once depicted a teddy bear motif. Broken windows which only revealed the wood which was nailed over them from the outside of the desolate building. The entire room bespoke of desolation and truth it was no different from Dwayne Rogers normal setting every night but yet the youth was afraid. At seventeen years old young Dwayne was not easy to frighten. When you were poor and black and male and lived in Davis Los Santos you didn't even _live _to see seventeen if you were easy to frighten. At seventeen Dwayne had been beaten up, clubbed, stabbed once, shot at several times, and once even doused with piss. He shuddered at the memory of the latter. Sure he had been plenty scared during those times but that was a different sort of scared, and it had went away quickly enough when it was time to throw it down with whoever it was that was trying to fuck with him. This fear that he was feeling now was completely different though. It coiled around at the very pit of his stomach like some type of snake and no matter what it wouldn't go away. It had his palms slick with sweat and his heart racing like a track horse on steroids. It even ran out of his skin in rivulets. The sour tang of its smell caught in Dwayne's throat and threatened to gag him.

"Yo," Said a deep voice from somewhere off to his side. "You good, cuzz?"

Dwayne took a deep breath and turned to look at the speaker. He was afraid and he was smart enough to know it, and he was especially not dumb enough to show it. Not here. Not now. The man that was in the room's only chair was a head shorter than Dwayne and perhaps fifteen pounds lighter yet he had the presence of a giant. He was black, his genes tending much more towards African than American, and his kinky hair grew willful with only the edges lined up. Three scars ran diagonal across his, one of them was across the bridge of his large nose, giving the impression that some tiger had clawed him. Dwayne knew better than asking the man how he received his scars. Three black teardrops were tattooed under each of his eyes. Dwayne knew better than asking the man why he had put in those tattoos. He had a neatly lined up sash and mustache.

The man was dressed in a fitted plain white t shirt, blue stonewash jeans, and purple **Mikes **tennis shoes. A purple rosary chain hung around his neck and a purple** Boars** **Baseball Club **wristwatch was around his left wrist. It was his eyes that did it. They were a deep brown that was almost black in most lights and they were _cold. _The eyes of a real killer. The man's name was Tyrell Smith but Dwayne knew better than to call him that.

"I'm good Crunk," Dwayne said trying to keep his voice stead. "Excited is all."

"Scared shitless more like." Crunk said with a rough laugh. "I can smell it from here." He gave a deep whiff to emphasize his point and then laughed once more. Dwayne replied with a queasy smile but made no reply. He felt like he was going to puke and didn't want to risk it.

"Don't think about it."Crunk advised. "It's the thinking that'll fuck a nigga up in the head. Don't. It'll get easier with time you'll see. Just do what you got to do."

Dwayne swallowed and nodded his head but made no reply. Crunk reached into his pocket after that and withdrew his** Myphone. **There was silence after that except for the telltale sounds of **Mildly Disturbed Avians **issuing from Crunk's phone**. **The minutes crept by slowly, giving Dwayne plenty of time to disregard Crunk's advise. He could still walk out. He didn't have to go through with it. Sure Crunk and the others would label him a punk ass who backed out at the last moment but they wouldn't hurt him. He could go back to school and maybe land a sports scholarship. He wasn't bad on the basketball court, everyone had always told him so. He didn't have to do it. He was almost on the verge of turning to Crunk and telling him about his change of heart when his mind summoned up another mental image.

His mom slumped over the white sofa that slowly turned into a red sofa with her blood. His father around the table, facedown in his plate of mash potatoes and fried chicken with a mouthful dribbling from his slack jaws while his sightless eyes stared at his screaming son….

The words died on Dwayne's tongue and his trembling hand slowly clenched into a trembling fist. No, there would be no turning back. For better or for worst this was the path that he was going to walk. A half hour later there were footsteps echoing in the corridor outside the room.

"About fucking time." Crunk muttered. He stowed his phone and rose to his feet with a yawn. Dwayne's misgivings returned in full force. This would be his last chance. If he didn't turn back now he could never turn back again. He would cross the border into the black lands. He would be lost forever. All he needed to do was leave the room. There were voices added to the footsteps now. Mom and dad would have wanted to him to leave the room. That thought gave him pause. Perhaps if he had had more time he might have left then but there was no more time to be had. The door flew open and banged into the wall with a boom. Two men entered first and in between them they clutched a third. Dwayne's eyes immediately went to the man in the middle.

Brown skin, straight black hair, slight build, beardless face, and no more than five foot five. He was a Mexican or some other sort of Hispanic. The man was dressed in a torn and bloody wifebeater and brown khakis. A blue bandana flecked with blood had been tied tightly around his throat. The man's hands were tightly bounded behind him with duct tape and Dwayne could see that he had been beaten. Badly. His face was nothing but a bloody mass of bruises and swollen flesh. His nose was smashed to a bloody pulp and his eyes were so swollen that Dwayne couldn't even see them within the folds of purple flesh. When he opened his mouth to curse Dwayne could see broken and missing teeth. He was tossed unceremoniously into the room and landed with a solid thump upon his face almost at Dwayne's feet.

"Hijo de puta!" The man screamed up at Dwayne as he wriggled on the floor. The youth looked down at him numbly and took a quick step back. The bounded Hispanic continued cursing and screaming and struggling. One of the man who had been holding him stepped forward and planted the edge of his heavy black **Hinterland **boot right into the Hispanic man's side. The kick was so hard it flipped the man over unto his back and his curses quickly became sobs.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of a tied up cockroach Baby D." The kicker said with a laugh. He was a large and robust man, closer to six feet than five. He was a few years older than Dwayne's seventeen years and still in the prime of his life. The arms that were visible from his purple tanktop could attest to that, they were thick and corded with muscles; and the calves that showed beneath his tanned cargo shorts were the same. His skin was more caramel than brown and his hair more straight than kinky. He looked at Dwayne through hazel eyes which confirmed his mixed parentage. Somewhere down the line he and the trussed up man on the floor were kin. Dwayne couldn't answer but was spared the effort when the other companion stepped forward.

"Yo Ozzy chill the little homie." He gave Dwayne an understanding look. "He's nervous is all. We all were the first time we proved ourselves."

The second man reminded Dwayne of a boulder. He was black as tar and built like a barrel. He had wide lips and wide set piggy black eyes. His hair was cut short and brushed into waves and he also sported a well kept goatee. The man wore an oversized black t shirt that was tight around his big belly, blue jeans, and black **Charles Tylers. **He also wore a purple Boars jacket and a thick gold chain.

"He don't look nervous Chubs," Ozzy said with a chortle."He looks more like he bout to piss his pants. Look at him."

"Enough." The voice came from the doorway. Dwayne looked up as one last man entered the room. In a goofy costume he would be able to pass for a professional wrestler, Dwayne thought. The man was Ozzy's size but even better in built. His shoulders brushed against either sides of the doorframe when he entered. _He looks strong enough to wrestle a horse._ The man was as dark as Crunk and he wore his black hair in neatly plaited shoulder length dreadlocks, at the tip of each one there was a purple bead. Bushy sideburns ran down his jawlines to link up with a goatee. He wore a plain black v neck tshirt and black denims. Purple **zip **boots covered his feet and he complimented it with a purple sleeveless hoody bearing the logo Rockstar. His face was lined and his brown eyes were hard and sharp. They missed nothing. The man was the oldest person in the room. Closer to forty than thirty.

Dwayne noticed all of that last however. What he noticed first and foremost was the nine millimeter glock that was clutched in the man's left hand. A gold ring shone on his index finger, the same finger that loosely caressed the trigger.

"He's scared, Mac." Ozzy protested. "Look at him. He don't got the balls for this."

"I said enough." Mac growled. He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. It echoed with a definite thud. In Dwayne's mind eye it was the closing of the door to his previous life. In this room was where the new one began. Mac observed Dwayne for a long moment. Two sets of brown eyes met. One hard and one obviously scared but determined. The silence dragged on except for the piteous moaning of the Hispanic on the ground. Finally Mac spoke.

"You sure about this?"

"Yeah." Dwayne said hoarsely.

"The doors right there." Mac jerked his thumb towards the door. "You don't have to do it. We'll avenge your moms and pops for you. We'd do it even if your brother didn't roll with us. Your peeps are from our hood and roaches killed them. That's enough."

"I'll do it Mac." Dwayne said. "I want in." His voice got stronger with every word as his fear was slowly replaced with rage.

The talk of his parents from someone else's lips brought it back more sharply than him just thinking of them. They were gone now. Shot to death by men like the fucking Hispanic roach before him in a bid to kill a man that had been in jail for almost five years. Dwayne was going to find out exactly who did it. The youth swore to god he was going to find exactly who had done it. But until then the tied up man at his feet would have to serve as a substitute.

"Take the gun then." Ozzie said with a sarcastic smile. "Go on. Show us that your blood is purple. You want to wear a Balla flag take the gun and blow the cockroach's head all over the floor."

At those words the tied up Hispanic at once started screaming and struggling once more.

"No. ." He sobbed. "Please. No."

The man's crotch darkened with liquid and the smell of piss caused all the other men present to wrinkle their nose.

"Nasty fuck." Ozzie snarled as he raised his boot and lazily kicked the man once more. This time his heavy boot connected with the prisoner's face and there was a very audible crack. The man's pleadings become much less words and much more yelps and incoherent babbling after that. Mac whirled the gun on his finger before holding it out to offer Dwayne the butt. He looked at it with blank eyes, well pass fear and well pass hesitation. With a shaking hand he took the offered weapon. He brushed his finger over the barrel. It was as cold as death.

"Put a bullet in the motherfucker." Crunk urged from behind. "Prove you ain't a bitch and you ain't a buster. You want in on **Carson Ave Ballas **prove you got what it takes. You **ballin** or nah?"

_No turning back…_Dwayne leveled the gun and pulled back the mechanism. _No turning back…._ The Hispanic gave a long loud and bloodcurdling scream. Dwayne's hand jerked when he pulled the trigger. The first shot punched the man through the throat and his scream turned into a bloody gurgle that was sickening to hear. Pink froth bubbled from the hole in his neck as he thrashed among the debris on the ground. The second shot took him in the cheek and jerked his head backwards. He still twitched feebly. The third shot smacked him right in between the eyes. The fourth stopped his twitching. The fifth was for surety. So was the sixth, seventh, eight, ninth and tenth. Dwayne pulled the trigger until the gun clicked empty. By the end of it the floor was bathed in blood and brains and the prisoner looked more akin to a slab of butchered meat than a man. The sickly metallic scent of blood was so heavy in the air that it could be tasted on the tongue.

"One dead esse," Ozzie gingerly prodded the dead man with the toe of his boot. "Heavy on the ketchup." He laughed at his own joke before giving the man one last kick.

"Waste of bullets."Crunk stated shaking his head with disapproval. "It only takes one, fool. Never know when you be needing the rest."

Dwayne stared at the body numbly hardly hearing their chatter. He found himself thinking about how much blood was in a human body as even now more was draining out and forming a pool around the dead man.

"You did good kid." Mac said. "Here this is for you."

Dwayne looked up and saw that the older man was handing him a purple bandana. He took it.

"You did good D," Mac continued. "You handled your business like a real nigga. Your brother would be proud."

"We better make some tracks dawgs." Chubs suggested looking down at the dead Hispanic with distaste. "Ain't smart to linger. Someone might have heard the shots and called it in. We going be in a world of shit if one times come peeping."

"What do they care about another dead boarder jumping fuck?" Ozzie snorted with disdain. "They should give us a medal and write us a check for public service."

With that the other men began filing out still chattering amicably. Only Dwayne remained where he was standing watching the corpse as if though his eyes were glued to it. He jerked violently when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Look at him." Mac commanded. "Look at him until you start feeling happy about what you've done. Think about your mom and pop. Think about your cousins Jim-Jim and Val. Twas motherfuckas like this that killed them."

"Its war D. Its never pretty. It is what is it is."

Dwayne nodded his head and cursed himself for being so shaky. This is what he had signed on for wasn't it? From the time he had sought OG Mac ought at his parents funeral and pleaded for entrance within the Carson Ave Balls this was what he had wanted. Blood. He took one last look and a deep sniff. This was what revenge smelled like that. A thin trembling smile curved over his lips. It was a scent that he could get used to.

"Give that glock over here. Its my favorite. Come on. Lets bounce. **Well Stacked Pizza's** on me."

Dwayne followed the elder Balla out of the room. At the doorway he hesitated and looked back one last time before exiting. The door slammed shut behind him with a definitive boom. The door had just closed upon his old life forever, the new one had officially began.

=============================~8~======================================

**There we go. The first chapter of my new fanfic. First just a few explanations. **

**Mikes: Parody of Jordans created by Zane Longsharks**

**Boars Baseball Club: Los Santos team created by Rockstar based upon the Los Angeles Angels baseball team.**

**MyPhone: Spoof of Iphone widely used**

**Mildly Disturbed Avians: Spoof of Angry Birds created by Stelm**

**Hinterland: Spoof of the Timberland products created by Rockstar**

**Charles Tylers: Parody of chuck taylors created by Stelm**

**Zip: Parody of gap created by Rockstar**

**Carson Ave Ballas: Set of Ballas based in Carson Avenue Davis. Will feature as the main Balla's set in this fanfic. I take inspiration from a number of different crip sets that I know so its hard to directly equate them to one specific real life set. In terms of geography though I think that they would be Nutty Blocc Compton Crips because by my best estimation Carson Ave is roughly analogous with Central Ave in Compton City which is in Nutty Blocc territory.**

**Ballin: Parody lingo based upon crippin. A word used as a net phrase to describe the lifestyle of being a crip.**

**Well Stacked Pizza Co: Pizza company created by Rockstar. Spoof of dominos.**

**Hope you guys enjoyed that one. Dwayne is officially a member of the Carson Ave Ballas now. Yay for him. On another note I'm going to move through this one going to be real fast pace and action all the way. Its good to be back. xD. On another note read, enjoy, and leave me a review for pete's sake. D: Look out for the next update soon. **


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